TITLE: Playback
AUTHOR: Brandon D. Ray
SPOILER STATEMENT: Three of a Kind
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT STATEMENT: M/S UST. Scully/other UST?
CLASSIFICATION: VH
SUMMARY: Fill-in-the-blank for "Three of a Kind". Anybody but me wonder what
Scully was doing between the time she left Langly at the morgue and Frohike
found her in the hotel bar? Based on a challenge posted to the MSR-SMUT list
(although this story actually fails to meet the challenge, since it isn't
NC-17).
THANKS: To Robbie and Brynna for the quick beta read.
Playback
by Brandon D. Ray
With a sigh of frustration Mulder unlocked the door and let himself into his
apartment.
It had been a long day; a really, *really* long day. It had started at 2:38
that morning, with a phone call from an anonymous informant, advising him of
mysterious lights in the sky just outside of Richmond, Virginia. Mulder had
hastily dressed and been in his car and on the road in less than fifteen
minutes, and an hour and a half later he'd been there --
To find nothing. Nada, nit, nil. No lights; no witnesses; no informant. A
complete washout.
And of course, that had only been the beginning of his troubles.
Mulder sighed and sank down on his sofa, kicking off his shoes in the process
and leaning back and closing his eyes. Naturally enough, by the time he'd
finally gotten back to his car after tramping around in the woods for over an
hour, it wouldn't start. The battery had been stone, cold dead. He'd tried
calling Scully, but for some reason she wasn't answering either her cell phone
or her home phone. And of course Mulder had never invested in a AAA membership.
Why buy a cow when milk was cheap?
He hadn't been able to get hold of the boys, either, and that *really* had him
puzzled. Scully very occasionally disappeared for a day or two to visit her
mother or some such. But so far as Mulder knew, the Lone Gunmen had no lives.
With a snort of disgust, Mulder mentally pushed the memories away. It was bad
enough that he had just had the day from hell; he was *not* going to relive it
now, in all its excruciating detail. Later he'd have to go over it, if only
long enough to cobble together some sort of report and thereby justify the
reimbursement of his travel expenses.
But not now. Not at nine o'clock at night, when he'd already been up for over
18 hours. Right now all he wanted was a quick shower, something to eat and then
a long sleep. He opened his eyes and started to rise from the sofa ....
.... and his attention was drawn by the flashing red light on his answering
machine.
Mulder hesitated, torn between the desire to avoid contact with Skinner, Kersh,
or any of the other Bureau higher ups who might possibly have been wondering
where he was all day, and the hope that one of the messages might possibly be
from Scully. And he really was curious as to where *she'd* been all day. He
reached out and tapped the playback button on his answering machine, then waited
while the tape rewound itself, seeming to take an unusually long time. And sure
enough, the first message was from Scully.
"Mulder, it's me. The battery in my cell phone just died, so I'm calling from a
payphone at BWI. You're not answering your cell, so I'm leaving a message on
your machine in hopes you'll call in to pick it up. Just wanted to let you know
I managed to get a reservation, and I'll be arriving at 1 p.m. your time on
Southwest 315. Don't worry about meeting me at the airport; I've already
arranged for a rental. See you at the hotel this afternoon. This better be
good, Mulder; I had to cancel plans for dinner and a movie with Mom."
By the time her voice had ceased Mulder was sitting bolt upright, staring at the
machine. What the hell was she talking about? She seemed to think he was out
of town, and expecting her to follow. But they hadn't spoken since the previous
afternoon ....
But before he could process the thought further, the machine had started playing
back another message. And again it was Scully's voice, sounding even more
irritated than on the first message.
"It's me again. Mulder, where the hell are you? I'm at the hotel, and the
front desk has no record of a room in your name -- and yes, I did check under
M.F. Luder, George Hale, Rob Petrie *and* Fox Mantle. They don't have a
reservation for *me* either -- you could at least have had the courtesy to take
care of that. Anyway, I'm checked in; I've got Room 1121 -- and it's a good
thing for you they had a room available. I don't know what you've got up your
sleeve this time, but it better be pretty damned good or I'm gonna kick your
ass."
By the time the second message had finished Mulder was overcome with dread.
Someone was obviously playing games with his partner, luring her off to --
somewhere -- on the pretext that it was Mulder calling her. But who? And why?
And most importantly, *where*? And then the third message started playing, and
Mulder was even *more* confused.
"Oh, Mulll-derrr. It's me. Scully." Mulder's felt his eyes widen at her tone
-- and then they widened further as he heard her giggle. "I just wanted t'call
an' tell you ... that I'm havin' a really good time." She stopped and giggled
again, and in a slightly muffled voice said, "Stop that!" Then she went on,
"But I still haven't been able to *find* you, Mulder. I've looked everywhere.
Where are you hiding?"
There was still more giggling, and the rumble of a man's voice in the
background. Then Scully's voice again: "But I did meet this really nice guy,
Mulder. I think you'd hate him." Giggle. "His name is Morris. You know; like
the cat." Giggle. "But thas not the best part," she went on in a
conspiratorial whisper. "The best part is his *last* name: Felcher. Can you
believe it? Morris Felcher!" And she broke down in peals of laughter.
"Have you ever felched, Mulder?" she asked, after she got her laughter back
under control. "You say you believe in extreme possibilities, and that one's
pretty extreme." She started laughing again, and it was a minute or two before
she was able to continue speaking. "I've never felched, Mulder," she confided.
"But I bet Morris has. He looks like a felcher."
Mulder shook his head; what the hell was going on? That was definitely Scully's
voice; he knew her voice so well. But the things she was saying ....
"Mulder, why aren't you here?" Now she sounded like a pouty child. "You call
me on the phone at 2:34 in the morning and tell me it's an emergency, and I get
here and all I have to entertain me are the three stooges." Mulder felt his
eyes widen again. The Gunmen? Could *they* be mixed up in this?
"I miss you, Mulder," she continued. "I know I said I was gonna kick your ass,
but I wouldn't ever really do that. Your ass is much too nice for me to wanna
kick it." She paused and giggled yet again. "Do other things to it, maybe.
But never kick it." Again Mulder heard what sounded like a man's voice in the
background. Then: "Mulder, I gotta go. Morris wants his cream." And then
there was a click as the line had apparently gone dead.
Mulder waited a moment, but there seemed to be no more messages. He sat on the
sofa for a pair of minutes, trying to digest it all. Scully had apparently been
called by someone -- someone she had mistaken for him. On the basis of that
phone call, she'd gone off -- somewhere. And she'd mentioned a flight number,
so it should be a simple matter to track her down by calling the airline. He
was just reaching for the phone when it rang.
"Mulder," he said, scooping up the receiver.
"Hello?" It was Scully's voice, thankfully sounding normal, if slightly pissed.
"Mulder? Can you hear me? I'm at the hotel. Where are you?"
Fini